The Untruth Told
by Relativity1953
Summary: post Devil's Trap story, spoilers for season 1, not so much AU as MU 'manipulated universe'
1. Chapter 1

The Untruth Told

(1/5)

_All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing._

Edmund Burke

_- Palo Alto, California _

"Sweetie?"

He almost didn't hear her calling him. He was so wrapped up in his own brain, his own thoughts, that she sounded distant. Distant in location only, as even in that one word her voice held warmth and tenderness. And love.

"Earth to Sam?" her voice was closer this time, as he was beginning to awaken from his stupor. "Are you still with me, Sweetie?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sorry," he said, feeling his cheeks redden slightly. He looked up at the beauty sitting across the dining table from him. Her long blonde curls were pulled back in a loose pony tail. Her big chocolate-colored eyes sparkled when she smiled at him – the way she always did when he blushed; a mixture of amusement and encouragement.

"Sorry," he told her, "I guess my mind was wandering."

"I know that this isn't as exciting as the Barton case, but it really means a lot to me. Tell you what," she said with a smile as she began to gather up the contents of the table, "Why don't we head down to the coffee shop on the corner, get some lattes and those chocolate-filled croissants, and try this again. I'm sure that the combination of fresh air, caffeine, and sugar will wake us both up."

He couldn't help but grin. He stood up when she did and leaned over the table.

"Hey," he said to get her attention. "Come here."

She smiled and leaned in to meet him for a kiss.

"I knew you were trouble from the first moment I laid eyes on you, Sam Winthrop," she teased.

"And I knew that you were the woman I would marry from the first moment I laid eyes on you, Jennifer Morris," he grinned. "And I'm sorry. I promise not to space out again. I know that this is important to you, but it's important to me too."

He looked down at the yellow legal pad in front of him, the one in which they were using to take notes and practice wording, trying to get everything just right.

_Raymond and Eileen Morris_

_request the honor of your presence_

_at the marriage of their daughter_

_Jennifer Lynn_

_and_

_Samuel Christopher Winthrop_

Sam waited at the counter for their order to be completed while Jenn found a cozy sofa in the corner with a coffee table in front of it, opened her large wedding organizer, and began spreading out all of their notes and lists and things.

He glanced over at her and couldn't help but smile. He felt like the luckiest man alive. He had it all: interning at a criminal law firm while finishing his degree at Stanford, an up-and-coming hot-shot career practically waiting on the sidelines for him, a beautiful and loving fiancé, and a family who could not be more proud of all his accomplishments.

So, why then had he recently started spacing out so frequently? At first, he had attributed it to all of the chaos that had built up in his life. True, all of the happenings were good things, things that he had worked hard for and looked forward to for a long time; but for an ultra-organized person like Sam, even the good things, when occurring in such abundance and in conjunction, were bound to cause havoc in his orderly little world.

That excuse had worn thin after a couple of weeks of increasing daydreams. Not that anyone else seemed concerned or put out. No, all of Sam's colleagues, family, and friends acted as if such things were normal for people in his position. He took comfort in their support for a while, but soon he was back to worrying that something was wrong with him.

If only he could remember the daydreams, he thought. But, they were similar to the dreams at night that vanished upon waking. Once he was brought out of the daydream, back to the land of the living, it was all gone. He just kept thinking that, if he could remember them, maybe he could figure out what they mean. Maybe Sam could figure out why his perfect life seemed so unreal.

-----

_- Lawrence, Kansas_

"Honey, I'm home," he called out and heard his wife laugh from the kitchen.

"You know," she said as she stepped into the living room to meet him with a kiss, "if I was wearing a swing dress underneath this apron, you'd have to start calling me June Cleaver or Harriet Nelson."

"I'd prefer hot pants," he countered and gave her a peck on the cheek, "and to call you Laura Petrie."

"John!"

"Hey, you started it," he laughed. "Besides, jeans and a T-shirt, and Maria Winchester suit me just fine."

She grinned and gave him a big hug.

"Right answer."

He followed her into the kitchen, offering to take dishes out to set the dining room table.

"Nope, everything's already set," she told him. "Oh," she said, stopping him in his path to the dining room, "how was your first day back in class?"

"Well," he said, turning back to face her with almost a sad smile, "I'll tell you, it felt weird to go into that high school today knowing that my sons wouldn't be there. I know it's just auto shop twice a week, but I'm really going to miss not running into one of them in the halls this year.

"It's different at the garage. They only helped out when they had the spare time, so it never really felt empty without them. Not like this house…" he sighed.

"Oh John," she murmured with sympathy and gave him another hug. "You never know, you might enjoy the quiet." She handed him a large wooden bowl filled with salad, and then picked up a roasting pan and started for the dining room.

"This house hasn't been _quiet_ for over 25 years," he scoffed. "I don't know that I will ever be used to the sounds of silence." He followed her to the dining room while looking at the bowl in his hands. "This is an awful lot of salad…"

"Surprise!" a group of voices shouted as he walked into the room.

"I'll say," he told them, knowing full well that, had someone not been just inside the door to help steady the bowl in his hands, their salad would have been all over the floor. "What are you all doing here?"

"You didn't think that we would miss an opportunity to celebrate your birthday, did you?" Drew asked, standing next to his wife that looked ready to pop and give him his first grandchildren – twins.

"Yeah, Dad," Shane added, "all Mom had to do was mention cake…"

"And don't think I didn't hear that comment about not seeing me in the high school hallway," his youngest, Mark, told him. "I only graduated last year. I think you might be getting a little sentimental in your old age."

John smiled as he looked around the table and saw five happy, laughing people gathered there – his family home to honor his 50th birthday.

When Maria and Shane brought out his cake toped with fifty burning candles (a simple 5 and 0 would be too easy for his family) and demanded he make a wish and blow them out, he realized that there was nothing more that he could ever want. Well, maybe a few less candles and grey hair; or for Shane to take the batteries out of the smoke detector that would surely start beeping once his candles were extinguished.

As John took in a deep breath, thought of his idyllic life, and looked at the cake ablaze in front of him, he couldn't help but wonder why it all seemed so wrong.

-----

_- Cape Girardeau, Missouri_

"Mommy!" her voice might have been small, but when she called out in excitement, it had the equivalent of 'stop the presses' in the small newsroom.

"Abby?" her mother said in surprise as small arms were thrown around her thighs. She looked up at her husband. "Dean? What's going on?"

"Half day today – no afternoon extended care," he told her with a kindhearted grin, knowing she had forgotten. "When you didn't show up, the preschool called me," he said softly.

"Oh," she groaned in frustration and embarrassment. "Oh, Dean, I'm sorry. It's just been a crazy day here…"

"Carrie, it's all right," he told her and walked up to share in the hug their daughter had yet to release. He gave his wife a kiss on the cheek, knowing that anything more would make her self-conscious in front of her staff.

"That's the beauty of owning your own business," he said with a smile, "I can take off almost any time."

"I know," she said, still hating herself, "it's just been so busy with the…" she broke off, not wanting to expose her 4-year-old to the gory details of the latest murder in the recent crime spree affecting many of the nearby towns. So far, Cape Girardeau had not hosted such an event, but that didn't mean the newspapers' readers weren't as concerned as their neighbors.

"I heard," Dean told her, understanding. His employees, even the part-time high school kids, had taken to listening to the news reports lately rather than the typical music that usually filtered through the shop. He shook his head and tried to lighten the mood. "And, Abby and I figured that, since you have been having such a hectic day, you probably haven't stopped for lunch."

Carrie blinked and suddenly noticed her stomach was grumbling.

"You're right," she said, blushing slightly. "Breakfast either."

"Mommy!" her daughter scolded, finally taking her arms away from her mother's legs and putting them on her own little hips with a huff. "You need to remember to eat!"

"The kid's got a point," Dean said, doing his best not to laugh at his daughter's seriousness. "So, you think you can spare some time to join us for lunch?"

"Oh, babe, I don't know. We've got a lot of work to finish before we can go to print tonight…"

Abby looked up at her father and giggled. He gave her one of his patented crooked grins and wiggled his eyebrows, causing the girl to giggle again before pulling his car keys from her own pocket and retreating back to the entrance of the building.

"What? What's going on?" Carrie asked him. Instead of answering, Dean just smiled at her again and called over his shoulder to her assistant.

"Hey, Rena, you called that one!"

For a moment, Carrie stood puzzled, watching as Rena grabbed an intern and an office errand boy and followed her daughter out the front door. She then looked at her husband, trying to read on his face what was going on. Then, as his smirk broadened into a full smile, comprehension began to form.

"You didn't…"

"Oh, but I did," he gave her another quick kiss, then announced to the room at large, "One newsroom-sized Dean Winston special coming up." Carrie just shook her head and laughed.

As if on cue, Abby and crew came through the double doors with enough food – fast food – to feed an army. Which, curiously enough, is the same amount needed to feed a hungry newspaper staff. And, in true Dean Winston fashion, there were multiple countries represented in the feast which included pizzas with various toppings, tacos and nachos, egg rolls and fried rice, burgers, salads, macaroni and cheese, and chicken wings.

"Dean, dude, you're my hero!" Tom, one of the photographers said as he clapped Dean on the shoulder.

"Hey, man," Dean returned with a smile, "all I ask is for you to get my good side when you put me on the front page."

"Hey," Carrie whispered in his ear and covertly smacked him gently on the back-side, "I thought I was the only one who got to see your _good_ side."

"Lady, if you don't watch it, I might just have to sneak you out of here," he returned with a raised eyebrow as she laughed. "Just don't tell my wife. She's the boss around here."

"Deal," she told him with a grin and they joined the rest of the news crew who were hungrily devouring as much food as they could reach.

"Daddy, I saved you a piece," Abby told him proudly as she handed him a large slice of meat-covered pizza. "It's your favorite!"

Dean smiled down at his daughter as she beamed up at him. Beautiful wife, loving daughter, slice of his favorite pizza, hero to a starving newsroom – life didn't get much better. But, why then, did he feel like he didn't belong here?


	2. Chapter 2

The Untruth Told

(2/5)

_Evil is whatever distracts._

Franz Kafka

_- Palo Alto, California _

Jenn looked up to see Sam walking across the coffee shop with their tray full of goodies and smiled. There was a part of her that was a little worried about him, but she hesitated to mention it. She knew that he was just as euphoric about their up-coming wedding as she was, but something inside of her – something that watched too many romantic comedies for her own good – was starting to believe that he was unconsciously sabotaging their preparations.

When she first confided her fears to her best friend and soon-to-be Maid of Honor, Regina, she tried to laugh it off but ended up sobbing. After a half-gallon of rocky road ice cream (and promises to start spending an extra hour or two at the gym each week until the big event), Regina had convinced her that Sam's behavior was that of a typical male.

"_Basically," Regina had said, "men just don't know how to multi-task the way we do. It's nothing personal, Jenn. Sam is trying – he really is. But, men often need someone to remind them of the details and timetables and things. Sure, he can keep it all straight at work, but most men only have a one-track mind. And unfortunately, wedding plans are in a whole different station!_

"_I mean, just look at Jack _(Regina's brother and Sam's fellow class-mate)_. When he got married, I think he would have forgotten his own name and Elizabeth's if the priest hadn't announced them during the vows."_

It made her feel better at the time, but looking down at the mock-up of their wedding program, Jenn felt her confidence waning. This was the third time – the first being their invitations and the second their save-this-date cards – that she had the correct the same mistake. She couldn't understand why Sam kept leaving out letters in Marilyn's name. Why did he keep writing his mother's name as 'Mary'?

Since Sam's family lived halfway across the country, Jenn had only met James and Marilyn a few times. But, she and her future mother-in-law hit it off well and they took to e-mailing one another like high school girl friends.

As an only child with a mother who frequently traveled and a father who put work above all else, Jenn found comfort in the conversations she had with Marilyn Winthrop. And, she had a feeling Marilyn felt the same. Why, Marilyn had even become her most valuable wedding consultant, next to Regina.

Sam only had one sibling, an older brother, who uncharacteristically ran off and married his girlfriend in Las Vegas. Jenn knew that Marilyn counted on Sam's marriage as her last chance to be Mother of the Groom in a big family wedding. And, as her own mother was practically estranged, the two women latched on to one another with ease. Maybe that was part of the reason Jenn found the mistake so upsetting.

"OK," Sam said as he sat down with the tray on his lap and began emptying its contents to the small open spaces scattered around the table, "What did I do now?"

"What?" Jenn asked and looked up at him, grinning despite her inner turmoil when she saw the look on Sam's face. He was looking at her with his honest-to-goodness, puppy dog eyes that never failed to make her slightly home-sick for the basset hound she had while growing up. It continued to amaze her how quickly Sam could discern when he was in trouble, or 'in the doghouse' as it were.

"I know that look," he said, "and I know I've been getting it a lot lately. Are you still upset that I spaced out before?"

"No, it's just…" _I'm not going to chicken out, I'm not going to chicken out…_

"That I forgot the napkins," Sam finished for her, incorrectly thinking that she had been looking at the tray still in his hand and not merely unable to meet his eyes. "I'll be right back," he said with a smile and was out of his chair before she could respond.

_I chickened out._

Sam walked back toward the counter, replaced his tray, and began taking some napkins from the basket amid the sugars and creamers. One of the coffee shop workers started to hand him a drink over the counter.

"Here you go," she told him, "half-caff double vanilla latte."

"Huh? Oh, I'm just getting napkins; that's not mine," he told her. She apologized and called out the drink order louder than before to gain the correct patron's attention.

"Half-caff double vanilla latte! Francis, your latte is ready!"

Sam couldn't quite figure out why but he was suddenly struck with an odd sense of déjà vu.

-----

_- Lawrence, Kansas_

"Well," Maria said, "if you boys don't need anything else, your waitress is officially off for the night and I'm going up to get ready for bed."

"Thanks honey/Mom," came from the three men sitting around the table, playing poker. She had to agree with her husband; it warmed her heart when her boys were home. And, although Drew and his wife had already returned to their own home across town, their two college boys were staying with them for the long weekend.

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. The evening had gone off perfectly, as evidenced by John nearly tossing the bowl of salad to the floor. Had it not been for Mark's quick reflexes… well, lettuce is just not the easiest thing to vacuum out of carpet and Maria was grateful that it did not become an issue.

Her nighttime routine had been the same nearly all of her life – change to her nightgown, wash her face, brush her teeth – and it was easy to let her mind wander. She began replaying the every detail of the evening in her head, from the moment John came home and called out to her, to stealthily keeping him from entering the dining room too soon, to the look on his face when she knew he had been completely surprised. She laughed to herself as the video in her mind rewound and played, rewound and played, rewound and played.

John's face had lit up when he looked around the table.

"_You didn't think that we would miss an opportunity to celebrate your birthday, did you?"_ Drew, their oldest, smiled while holding Cassidy's hand. John couldn't help but look at his daughter-in-law's other hand resting on her belly. From the looks of it, it would not be long before two more Winchester men arrived.

"_Yeah, Dad, all Mom had to do was mention cake…"_ Shane, their middle child, was the first to leave their family. Yes, Drew had gone to a small local community college, but Shane took things a giant leap further and got into the law school at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. His studies kept him very busy and it had become increasing common to get a call or e-mail from him rather than see him face to face.

"_And don't think I didn't hear that comment about not seeing me in the high school hallway. I only graduated last year. I think you might be getting a little sentimental in your old age."_

Wait a minute, Maria thought to herself. She replayed the scene in her head – John used to joke that she her memory wasn't photographic, but more like a video. And, it was true; she could replay, rewind, and fast-forward her mind to retrieve events in almost perfect detail.

For no more than a second – something she did not register as she was too caught up in the moment – John had looked at their youngest son as if he was a stranger. And then, as quick as the look appeared, it was gone. Replaced with knowledge and familiarity.

A bit bewildered, Maria continued on with her internal-movie. The conversation had been lively and full of laughter. Drew and Cassidy told everyone how close they were to completing the nursery for the twins, and how much more they needed to finish before they felt their home was 'baby friendly'. Shane had talked about the classes he was taking and how he met a girl, Tess, who he had gone out a few times. Mark…

There it was again. That anonymous stare given to over-friendly visitors or outsiders, but not to sons. She couldn't figure out what had gotten into her husband. His smile came so quick and easy when talking with Drew and Shane, but each glance to Mark began with hesitation before dissolving into a grin.

All through dinner and dessert – every time it was the same. John would turn to Mark as if surprised by his presence and then a mere second or two later he would break into a grin, or a smile, or a laugh.

Maria frowned, then closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams of her husband forgetting their third son completely.

-----

_- Cape Girardeau, Missouri_

"All right, everyone," Carrie made the general announcement to the newspaper staff, all of whom seemed to have finished their portion of the Dean Winston special and were now leaning back in their chairs lazily, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have to get back to work… reporting the bad news."

There was a collective groan from the workers, though whether it was because their break was now over or because of her bad joke, she wasn't sure. _Man,_ she thought, _Dean's humor is rubbing off on me – and that's not necessarily a good thing._

She looked over at her husband, watched as he cleaned up the remains of the meal, boxed up some of the left-overs, and chatted with Rena, Tom, and a few reporters. He may not have been the most 'Hallmark cards and a dozen red roses' romantic guy, but he made up for it with his practical but thoughtful gifts and strange schemes – like today's smorgasbord lunch even _after_ she forgot to pick up their daughter from school.

And, just as her smile was starting to falter with the thought, Dean looked over and gave her a wink and a grin. There were just some days when she felt she didn't deserve him. And many more days when she felt she didn't deserve such an amazing daughter. But of course, she also didn't feel that she could be given much credit for the way Abby was turning out. There were only two things that Abby inherited from her mother: a head full of thick, dark curly hair and a propensity for being a complete daddy's-girl.

Carrie Robins was born into the newspaper business. Her father, the paper's founder and original editor-in-chief, used to bring her to work with him at least once a week for as long as she could remember. She began working at the paper when she was fourteen, started editing columns at sixteen, and had her own column by eighteen. She continued working long hours and moving up the ranks until her father retired a few years back – of course, he still writes an occasional story and comes in to check on his two babies.

It had been a long-standing 'joke' with the town gossips that Carrie would never meet anyone, let alone have a relationship, because she lived and breathed the newspaper. They would often giggle in the diner across the street and comment loud enough for her to 'overhear' that the paper would eventually fall into non-Robins hands because she would never have an heir to leave it to.

It was on a particularly terrible afternoon, one where nothing went as it should have, that Carrie unwisely took a break and went across the street for a coffee and some fresh air. Unfortunately, gossip must have been in short-supply because, from the moment she stepped through the doors, the loud whispers that all began with 'that Robins girl' filled the otherwise quiet room.

It didn't take long for Carrie to become infuriated. She had just turned around to face the old women and had taken a deep breath to begin ranting and raving when he walked in. Even with the dirt and oil that painted his clothes and skin, he was strikingly attractive – and perhaps his grimy appearance added to his working-man, calendar pin-up appeal. All eyes were on him the moment he was through the door, and he took it in stride, almost as if he expected nothing less. His scan of the room ended with Carrie, who was suddenly completely embarrassed at what she must look like, and he walked up to her.

"Hi there," he said with a warm smile on his lip and in his eyes, "I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of a good mechanic around here?"

And the rest, as they say, was history. She had, indeed, been able to tell him the _very best_ mechanic in town (an old friend of her father's) and, not only pointed him in the direction, but walked with him as she didn't trust herself back at the diner with all of the gossips.

Dean Winston had only planned on passing through, but his stay went from a day to a week to a month… and all the while, he made sure to see Carrie almost daily. They dated; he eventually asked her to marry him, and a year after their nuptials, all of the town gossips had to put an end to the 'jokes' about a Robins heir.

In fact it was Dean himself who put those jokes to rest. At their one year anniversary party, after they made the announcement that Carrie was expecting, one of her fellow reporters brought up the question of Carrie's name. Why, even after a year of marriage, did her nameplate and bi-line still read 'Carrie Robins'?

"_Because she will _always_ be Carrie Robins," Dean said without a moment's pause. "I may have been lucky enough to talk her into marrying me, but I'm not going to be responsible for taking away the last Robins in town. That's a name that means something around here; and I have been told, in no uncertain terms, that this newspaper is to remain in _Robins_ hands."_

And, nine months later, Abigail Winston Robins was born.

"Abby?" Carrie shook herself from her reverie at the sound of her husband's voice. "Abby?"

She looked over to see him scanning the room for their wayward child, whose latest obsession was hide-and-seek. A smile started to form on her lips until she noticed that several members of the staff were also looking around with worried expressions.

"Dean?" Carrie made her way over to where he was crouching near a desk. "What's going on?"

Instead of answering, Dean looked up at Carrie and she could read the slight panic in his eyes. Whether it started out as a game or not, he was obviously no longer playing.

"I've checked all her usual hiding places," Rena told them as she moved closer, "but she isn't…"

The rest of her explanation was cut off by a crash and a scream from the back room where the printing press was located. All eyes went to the door, which had lately been kept propped open because the lock was damaged and would catch from the inside without provocation.

Kevin, the young intern who was closest to the door, tried to open it but the handle wouldn't turn.

"Abby," he called through the door calmly and soothingly, "can you unlock the door? All you have to do turn that little thing under the knob so it goes up and down instead of side to side. OK?"

"I can't," came the muffled, crying little voice, "the shelf fell and it's in the way. And it hit my arm and it hurts!"

Dean sprung into action. He ran to the printing room door, grabbed something from a nearby desk, and then slid on his knees to land at eye-level with the keyhole. Carrie caught up with him in time to see him straightening out two paper clips.

"Dean, what are you…" but she trailed off as he jammed them into the keyhole and, after shifting them around a couple of times, she heard the tell-tale click of the door unlocking.

"How did you…" again, she trailed off because she could see that her husband was not listening. Instead, he was throwing himself into the door, left shoulder-first, to try and move both it and the fallen shelf away.

When there was a gap large enough to fit through, Dean slid through the opening and climbed over the shelf to get to his daughter.

"Daddy!" she cried and sniffled.

"It's OK baby," he told her softly as he picked her up in his arms. She wrapped herself around him as he held her up with one strong arm and used the other hand to caress the back of her neck, murmuring comfort and swaying back and forth to calm her.

Carrie, a bit shocked by all that had happened so quickly, looked at the keyhole where one of the straightened paperclips still stuck out. _Where on earth did he learn how to do that?_


	3. Chapter 3

The Untruth Told

(3/5)

_He who does not punish evil commands it to be done._

Leonardo da Vinci

_- Palo Alto, California _

Sam loved Jenn, loved being with her; but when she told him that she would be gone for the entire weekend, he couldn't suppress a blissful sigh at the sound of their door closing. Quiet time – alone time – was few and far between these days.

But, as much as Sam would have liked to simply kick off his shoes, lounge around on the sofa with a beer, and watch whatever game he could find on television, he knew that he had a list of things to accomplish. Wedding things. And, he'd be damned if he let Jenn down again.

Through the grapevine, he had learned of his prior errors and Jenn's concerns… the grapevine that went from Jenn to Regina to Elizabeth to Jack to Sam. He felt like he was back in high school, but he couldn't be angry. He was almost glad that he had heard the news from Jack rather than Jenn, as he honestly couldn't put his finger on why he continued to miswrite his own mother's name.

These days, Jenn never went anywhere without what she called her 'second brain' – also known as her calendar and wedding organizer. So, Sam had started making his own notes, lately feeling that a 'second brain' could be quite a benefit. Actually, between work and school, his wedding notebook was actually his third or fourth brain (though they were in no way listed in order of importance!).

So, once Jenn had left, Sam settled for kicking off his shoes, sitting on the sofa with some warmed up Chinese food and a beer, and looking through his list of things he still needed to complete. He was determined to alleviate Jenn's worries.

Calls to make – he thought to himself while shoving a large bite of garlic chicken in his mouth. Since he now knew the number of out-of-town family and friends that would be attending the wedding and needed a hotel room (tallied from their RSVP cards), he could call the manager at Cliff House.

He felt a little strange about the arrangement. Cliff House was not even an hour away from their apartment, but he and Jenn would be spending four days and three nights there. In a sudden play for sway, Eileen Morris _suggested_ the romantic spot to them at dinner. Though the dinner was to be in honor of the newly engaged couple, Eileen had discussed her own wedding at length.

Mrs. Morris, now a world-traveling successful business woman, had started out as lower-middle class as her now-husband. She made mention of how her wedding had been small and anything but fancy, and how she wanted to give her daughter the wedding she herself had always dreamed of. Apparently, Eileen had always dreamed of a wedding in which her mother chose the place and the food and the rest of the itinerary.

Sam had remarked to Jenn in private that he was surprised her mother didn't set the date and pick out her dress. Jenn smiled wearily and explained that they had already picked the date (nothing her mother could do about it) and she most likely would have been made to wear her mother's dress had an _unfortunate_ flood in the basement of her parents' first home not destroyed it.

But, the Morrises, as parents of the bride, were footing the bill. So (without the words actually being spoken), Sam and Jenn were to put up and shut up, or find their wedding funds suddenly cut off. Not wanting to alienate her parents, the couple chose the former. After all, what really mattered to them was getting married, not the wedding itself.

So, they would follow Eileen's instructions:

Thursday –Bachelor Party in the Zinc Bar and Bachelorette in Sutro's Bar

Friday – meet and greet guests, rehearse for wedding

Saturday – wedding and reception, of course

Sunday – champagne brunch in the Terrance Room at 10:00 am

They would chose the Golden Gate Tower Menu for the Reception and enjoy the hot and cold hors d'oeuvres that Eileen chose for them. They would even order the correct wines that she picked out (they would not be serving beer). Then, at 1:00, they would flee and begin their new life together – starting with the honeymoon that they planned on their own.

-----

_- Lawrence, Kansas_

"Honey, I'm home," John called out as he closed the front door. It had become a silly tradition since the boys had all moved away, but since they both still laughed at the '50s sitcom style greeting; he continued to spout out the phrase day after day.

"Hey, you'll never believe what was donated to the school today," he continued as he took off his coat and hung it in the closet. "Someone gave me… and, um, the auto shop kids the most beautiful car. It had been in an accident and the passenger side was good and crunched in, but I think with some work the kids can fix it up. And, you'll never believe what it is: a 1967 Chevy Impala!"

He could still remember the feeling he got when he first heard about it – he was taken back to his boyhood in an instant. When he was a kid, not quite old enough to drive, one of his friends from the neighborhood showed him the car for the first time. The kid's older brother had just gotten what they nicknamed 'The Silver Bullet'. It was the most glorious car John had ever seen and from that day on, it was his dream car.

But, as the car was towed into the garage, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of déjà visté. It didn't make any sense, but the car seemed so familiar to him. What was even more eerie was that, when he looked inside, he already knew right where to find the coffee and mustard stains – even the dark brown stain (he didn't want to admit it, but he knew it was blood) that he discovered in the far left corner of the trunk.

When he saw the nightmare of a car, not the shiny silver from his dreams but a spiteful and mocking black, he was tempted to turn it away. But, he tried to focus on his early excitement and keep an open mind. Besides, maybe they could give the monster a paint job.

"Maria?" he called out after not hearing or seeing his wife. "Honey?"

He walked into the kitchen and found a legal pad sitting on the counter. His wife's usual elegant handwriting looked rushed and anxious.

_John –_

_Cassidy's having the twins._

_Tried to call you but your cell was turned off._

_I'll call from the hospital when I know more._

_Love,_

_Maria_

John began looking around and pacing, as if trying to figure out his next move. A giddy medley of _I'm gonna be a grandpa, I'm gonna be a grandpa_ buzzed in his head. He looked in the reflective surface of his toaster. Yep, there was a silly smile plastered on his face.

_Gotta call Shane_, he thought. _Gotta call Mark_.

Not that he thought either of the two would be able to simply drop everything and come to meet their new nephews, but they deserved a call. He instinctively reached for his cell phone and then cursed himself.

How long ago did Maria try and get in touch with him? How could he forget to turn his phone on? The twins might already be born! I might already be a grandpa – no, Maria would've left a message at the house.

He stopped his nervous movements for a moment and took a deep breath. He was starting to get excited and twitchy. He really didn't think he had gotten this bad when his _own_ sons were born!

First order of business: turn on the cell phone. He looked at the screen as the device took its time to power up. Three missed messages. The last one was from his wife and he could see that he had only missed her by 20-30 minutes. The first two were unfamiliar numbers. He ran through the menu to listen to them.

As the first voice started, he recognized it as Mark's best-friend and dorm-mate. The boy had gone to high school with Mark and had even taken John's auto shop class last year.

_Hey, Mister Winchester. It's Stan. Uh, I don't know if you'll get this, but it's Mark. He's had a bit of an accident and, uh, the doctors say they can't give me any information since I'm not family. Um, but, uh, I know it's his leg – uh, the right. So, don't worry, 'cause, uh, he's being taken care of. All right? I just wanted to let you know._

Filled with a new sort of panic from the kid's semi-cryptic message, John began pacing again. The next voice that came through the phone was from Mark. He sounded sleepy, or more likely drugged.

_Dad? I know Stan left you a message before. I don't know if you got it but I'm at Lawrence Memorial Hospital, and I've got a cast up to my thigh. I didn't want to call Mom and worry her but, I don't know what to do… So, whatever you're doing, if you could get here… Please. I need your help Dad._

Well, apparently John would be able to visit two of his three sons this afternoon. Too bad they were in different wards – it would make life a lot easier if Cassidy and Mark could be neighbors.

-----

_- Cape Girardeau, Missouri_

Dean had never been one to sit still, so instead he took to pacing the narrow hallway that separated the pediatric waiting room from the various other medical specialty offices. He was beginning to wear a path in the carpet from his many laps back and forth between the offices of Dr. Bloom – ophthalmologist, and Dr. Weimer – ear, nose, and throat specialist.

He tried to relax – he really did. But, the longer he had to wait, having been told that he was not allowed to accompany Abby while she was being taken care of, the harder it became.

"Dean?" he heard the familiar voice and looked up to see his mother and father-in-law walking towards him. He was usually quite observant to his surroundings and was a little surprised; not only by their presence, but that he hadn't even heard the elevator's loud bell when they arrived.

"Mrs. Robins," he said, giving the woman a quick hug before she passed him and went into the waiting room to sit with her daughter. "Mr. Robins," he said, shaking the man's hand. "What are doing here?"

"Carrie called us and told us what happened. She was worried," the man told him.

"Well, you know Carrie," Dean smiled, "all it takes is for Abby to scrape her knee and she's right there with disinfectant, a bandage, and an ice cream sundae to make everything better."

"You're right about that," George Robins couldn't help but laugh, a deep and pleasant belly-chuckle. "She gets that from her mother, you know?"

George, a tall and bulky teddy bear of a man, put his arm around Dean's shoulder and gently led him to a bench in the hallway.

"Dean, Carrie didn't call us because she was worried about Abby." When Dean looked up at the man with confusion, George continued. "Yes, the scene with Abby scared her, but… well, I know you're not one for surprises so I wanted to give you a little warning. Carrie asked if we could take Abby to our house this afternoon so that the two of you could talk… privately."

"What?" The word came out as little more than a whisper and Dean's insides felt like ice.

George suddenly realized the worry he was unintentionally causing when he saw the young man's eyes grow wide. He would never understand his son-in-law's self-esteem issues. Carrie and Abby were his _life_ and Dean would do anything and everything to make them happy, and yet he often second guessed himself if there was even a hint (and in this case, a misunderstood hint) that something was wrong. Though he didn't know all the facts involved, George knew that Dean's anxieties stemmed from issues with his family. But, how the man's family could be responsible for such an adverse reaction…

"No, no, Dean," he said hurriedly, trying to right the wrong, "it's nothing to worry about. Carrie is just a little concerned. She says that you haven't been acting quite like yourself lately…" but the rest was cut off when the three generations of Robins women walked out of the waiting room.

"Daddy!" Abby exclaimed upon seeing him and ran and jumped into the man's arms.

"Hey, baby," Dean said, still a little shaken, held onto his daughter as if he were ready to protect her from the world.

"Big, squishy hugs!" Abby said happily and hugged him tighter. "But, Daddy, it's OK. Doc didn't even have to sew it up," she told him as she let go of his neck and held out her arm for him to see. "He just put on some special glue – good as new!"

"That's great. That means it probably won't scar," Dean told her. When she huffed and wrinkled her nose in disappointment, he laughed. "Oh, come on kiddo, don't take it too hard. After all, it's not a very good scar story. I'm sure there will be better ones in the future, Monkey-girl." He ruffled her hair and she giggled at the nickname.

"Abby," Teresa Robins said softly, "how would you like to come and get a banana split with your grandpa and me?" It was all George could do not to laugh at his wife for being so predictable.

"Aw man," Dean said when he felt Abby grip his arm, indicating how much she _didn't_ want to go, "and here I thought that Grandma and Grandpa were here to take _me_ for ice cream. You get all the luck, kid!" Abby laughed and hopped off of his lap. "Hey, make sure you eat all the bananas, Monkey-girl."

"Dean…" Carrie began, not quite sure what she wanted to say. They had just waved their good-byes to Abby and were walking along a quiet path through a park not too far from the medical building. She looked up at her husband and saw that he was very poignantly not looking at her, and instead was concentrating on breathing normally.

_Oh, what did Dad say to him?_ she wondered. She knew that her father had taken an instant liking to Dean – considering her husband the son he never had, and therefore felt the need to bond and guide and explain 'those Robins women' and how they think.

Unfortunately, these little chats often seemed to have the opposite of their desired effect. Carrie knew, after long nights of having to drag the facts out of him (and pouring alcohol into him), that Dean and his family had had a falling out. From what she had ascertained, Dean wanted to travel and get his education through living and personal experience. His brother, Sean, chose the studious route and went to law school.

The rest of the story always became muddled and vague, but from what Carrie had pieced together, Dean felt as if he had let his family down somehow. There were always drunken mumblings of, "not good enough" and "they don't need me like I need them" and then passing out.

"Dean, please look at me." He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and turned to her. "God, you're making me nervous."

"I'm making _you_ nervous?"

"Yes! Look… I don't know what my father told you…"

"Only that you're _concerned_," he mumbled.

"Please," she stopped, grabbed his hands, and looked him in the eye, "tell me I don't have to be. Lately, you've been acting… I don't know – but not like yourself. I'm starting to feel…" she broke the eye contact, "I'm starting to feel like I'm holding you back."

"What?" Dean was flabbergasted. "Carrie, what are you talking about?"

"Dean, when we first met… you were so, I don't know… Jack Kerouac, _On the Road_; travel the country and live your life…" now Carrie was becoming flustered. "I'm just starting to feel that me, and Abby, well – we weren't exactly part of the plan."

"Carrie, I'm so sorry," Dean said, pulling his wife into his arms. "I didn't mean to make you feel…"

"What? No, Dean, you need to stop blaming yourself for everything," she told him as she continued to hold onto him, only loosening the embrace so that she could look him in the eyes once again. Seeing the look on his face and knowing what he would say, she spoke again before he had the chance, "Don't argue with me. I'm older, which means I'm right."

Déjà vu?

"What?"

"Dean," Carrie said, instead of answering any of his questions. "Go away with me."


	4. Chapter 4

The Untruth Told

(4/5)

_The nature of man is evil; his goodness is the result of his activity._

Xunsi

_- Palo Alto, California _

After talking with Emily at Cliff House, Sam called his brother. David, who for the last few years seemed to continually surprise him, was enjoying the mystery he had created about Sam's bachelor party. It seems that his own marriage hadn't changed his older brother much and Sam was starting to worry about the possibilities the man could come up with.

"Hey Dave," voice mail again. He never connected with his brother any more; they had been reduced to leaving messages for one another in an endless game of what his mother referred to as 'phone tag'. "It's Sam. Listen, I know you are getting a real kick out of planning my bachelor party and everything, but please… please! Don't go overboard. I mean, not only will Jenn be nearby, but my future in-laws will be… well, I just have a feeling that one of them may 'check-in' on the festivities. And, really man, they are paying for, like, everything. So, I really feel like, bad impressions aside, I don't want to make them angry in any way. Okay? Listen… just give me a call, all right?"

Sam hung up the phone. While seeing the greater good of the devices, he was really beginning to hate answering machines and voice mail. He finished up his lukewarm dinner and barely-cold beer, knowing that he had more calls to make, yet also knowing that his brother would call as soon as he was on the phone. If there was such a thing as telephone-usage-ESP, he was sure that David Winthrop possessed it.

Too bad psychic powers didn't run in the family. Sam laughed at the thought as he got up from the sofa and put his dishes is the sink and his bottle in the recycle bin. A little telekinesis a la Jean Grey or Willow Rosenberg would come in handy every now and then. Laughing again as he grabbed another beer from the refrigerator, he thought, _of course, a little of Johnny Smith's precognition would be nice as well._

But, sci-fi fantasies were not going to help him with his phone calls. Sam decided to risk a tag-back from his brother and picked up the phone. First he called the tux shop to make sure David, Jack, his father, and Jenn's father had all made it in to be measured. He had assumed that Regina and Jenn's cousin Stacey had gone to the shop with Jenn… well, Jenn had the bridesmaids covered.

Next he called the florist. He knew that Jenn had made all of the bouquet, boutonniere, and corsage arrangements, but Sam wanted to do something special, something surprising. He made sure to ask that a single white rose (Jenn's favorite) be delivered to the bride's room on the morning of the wedding with a note:

_Jenn, meet me in the Terrace Room at 10:00_

_Love, Sam_

Then, he called the photographer to go over the itinerary for the wedding weekend, making sure to have the woman near the bride's room when the rose was received. Sam new Jenn well enough to know that she would be a little angry at having her photo taken when she wasn't prepared (and possibly teary), but would be thankful for the memory later.

His last call was to the chalet owner in Tennessee to make sure that their reservation information was correct. Yes, a chalet in Tennessee in December might be an unusual honeymoon spot, but Jenn had lived in California all of her life (and he had for the last four years), and they both decided that another beach somewhere wouldn't be something out of the ordinary.

His final call made (and won't Jenn be happily surprised that he took care of these things), Sam decided to check his voice mail. And, just as he suspected, David had called while he was on the phone.

_Hey Sammy_ (arg – he hated when his brother called him Sammy) _you worry too much bro! I got you the highest class strippers I could find – nothing's too good for my little brother. And don't worry about the future-in-laws. I took care of them, too. I sprung for a couple of stripper-grams to be sent to their room. They won't be barging in on our festivities. You did mention that they were swingers, right?_

At this point, his brother had to stop his casual sounding message and burst into laughter. After a moment and a deep breath to regain composure, he continued.

_I'm just kidding, man. I know that's not your thing – every other man's on the planet, but not yours. And, this is your day, your weekend, so we're going to party the way you like – boring as that may be. Don't worry kid; I've come up with something special but it won't get you in trouble. I'll even make sure you don't drink too much – having a hangover at your own wedding is not the best way to start your life together._

Sam smirked. Did David know that from personal experience?

_Just remember, Sammy, as long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you._

Déjà vécu?

Though Sam was almost positive that he had never heard his older brother udder those words, he couldn't help feeling that it was familiar. Sure, David always had his back, always stuck up for him (and Sam did the same for him) – but there was something about the specific words he had used...

Sam smiled as he saved his brother's message. Suddenly, he couldn't help the warm feeling he had – the feeling that told him that everything was going to be all right.

-----

_- Lawrence, Kansas_

John called Shane as he left the house for the hospital. Having expected to simply leave a message for his son, he was surprised when Shane answered on the third ring. Apparently, John was the second person to reach him between classes – he had just gotten off the phone with Maria who told him that, after rushing to the hospital, the babies were now taking their sweet time and seemed in no hurry to be born.

Well, that made John's decision easy – he would stop by Mark's room _before_ catching up with his wife. After asking at the admissions desk for his son's room number, John went the long way around the hospital and climbed three flights of stairs to avoid running into Maria.

Finally finding the correct door, John took a deep breath and walked in slowly, not really sure what to expect. His son was lying in a barely long enough hospital bed with his right leg held up by a torturous looking device hanging from the ceiling. A cast that extended from his foot to his thigh reminded John just how tall his youngest son was – at 6'3", his baby was really _not_ a baby any more.

But, what really caught his attention was the smile on the boy's face. John would have thought that it was impossible to grin so widely, what with the bruises and abrasions on the right side of his face, but one look at the young woman who was smiling back at Mark told him that his son would risk the discomfort.

"And here I was actually worried about you," John said with a smirk. "It looks like you're in good hands to me."

The young woman looked up at him, a smile still on her face and in her dark brown eyes. In one fluid motion, she tucked some of her stray blonde hair behind her ear and then reached her hand out to John.

"Hello Mr. Winchester," she said pleasantly. "I've just been keeping your son company, but since you're here now, I'll leave you two alone. Bye Mark. It was nice meeting you."

"Will you be here again tomorrow?" Mark asked, trying to hide the eagerness in his voice.

"Yeah," she smiled again, "and I'll make sure to stop by." And with that, she left the room.

"And who was that?" John asked as he sat down in the chair the young woman had just vacated.

"Charlotte," Mark said, almost wistfully. "She's a volunteer here. I guess she goes to KU, too, but it's a big place – I've never seen her before."

"I'm guessing that will change," John smiled at his son. Mark smiled back, but then as his thoughts drifted, so did the carefree expression. "What's the matter?"

"Stacey," he said simply, then groaned and let his head hit the pillow.

Stacey was Mark's on-again, off-again girlfriend, but always-friend. John didn't understand how that worked, but his boys were constantly reminding him that things are different from when he was a kid.

John had been surprised to hear from Stacey when she called to ask for Mark's new phone number. Since she had left town to study at the Art Institute in San Francisco, he thought that it would be the end of his son's relationship with her. But, as he soon found out, they had remained good friends – so much so that Stacey had asked Mark to be her escort to her cousin's wedding.

"I thought that you two were just friends."

"We are," Mark told him. "We decided that the long distance thing wouldn't work. That's not really the problem, though."

"What is the problem?"

"I'm supposed to be Stacey's date to her cousin's wedding! How I am going to get there? I was planning to drive. And, what about a suit? I'm not going to be able to fit anything over this cast other than sweatpants."

"Okay, okay," John said, trying to calm his now-panicking son down, "take it easy. We'll figure something out. In the meantime, why don't you call Stacey? Maybe she's met someone at school…"

"Yeah," Mark jumped on the train of thought, "yeah, you're right. She's a nice, good-looking girl. I'm sure she's met a lot of people at school. She might _want_ to take someone else. Yeah, thanks Dad. I'll give her a call."

John smiled as he handed his cell phone to his son. _Oh, if only all of life's problems were so easily solved._ He was interrupted from mentally patting himself on the back by Charlotte's return.

"Um, Mr. Winchester," she said quietly when she noticed that Mark was on the phone. "Do you know that there is another Winchester family here?"

John was so immersed with being super-dad that he had forgotten about his upcoming role as grandpa. He jumped out of the chair as Mark was handing his phone back to him.

"Well, she's still counting on me… What's going on?" he asked.

"Cassidy's having the twins!"

"What, now? Here? Go Dad," Mark said, "I'm fine. Go!"

John ran to the doorway but then paused and looked back and forth down the long hallway to either side, trying to get his bearings once more.

"Mr. Winchester," Charlotte said from a couple steps to his left. "Why don't you follow me? I know all the quickest routes in this hospital."

"Thanks," John told her and followed her to an elevator that didn't appear to be for public use. "Are you sure we're allowed to use this one?"

"Yep," she said, pulling out a small key from her pocket. "This one is for deliveries. Since I volunteer here, I have access. So," she said once they were inside the elevator, "Mark looked a little upset. Is he all right?"

"What?" John's mind was flying between all that had happened that afternoon. When he focused on the question, he smiled and turned to her. "Yes, Mark's fine. He's a little worried because he promised a friend he would go to California and the cast won't be off in time. I guess he'll have to fly since he won't be able to drive for awhile."

"When's the trip?" John was a little thrown by the question, but when he looked over at her, he could see the slight look of disappointment. He congratulated himself on his forethought – mentioning Stacey would probably not gain his son any points with this girl.

"December," John told her as the elevator doors opened. "During the school break."

"Oh wow," she said, leading him towards a waiting room. He could see Maria pacing through the open doorway. "Well, good luck getting a plane ticket. That's not the best time of year to try and fly, what with the holidays and everything. Too bad he doesn't have someone to make the drive with him."

-----

_- Cape Girardeau, Missouri_

"What?" Dean asked again, only this time it wasn't because of déjà vu. This time it was because he was completely confused by the non sequitur his wife just threw at him.

"Go away with me," she repeated.

"What?" it seemed to be all he could say. "Where? Carrie, what are you talking about?"

"It could be like a second honeymoon," she said, starting to talk quickly. "Or really, a first, since we didn't technically have one after we were married. Which, I am not blaming you for, so don't even start feeling guilty about that. And we never go on vacation – again, not blaming you. Really, it's my fault…"

"Carrie-"

"And," she kept going, talking faster, "it could just be the two of us. We really only had, well, less than two years for just the two of us – and half of that time, I was pregnant, so that didn't really count. And, my parents could watch Abby…"

"Carrie-"

"It could be a big 5-year anniversary thing…"

"Carrie!"

"What?" she finally stopped and turned to face him.

"Well," Dean said, taking a deep breath. He hadn't been the one talking, but he still felt breathless. "First of all, we've been married 6 years…"

"Huh?"

"Well, we will be – I mean, this December will be our 6th anniversary, not 5th."

"And second?" At his questioning look, she continued. "You said, 'first of all', which generally implies that there is a 'second of all' following."

"Second of all," he said slowly, "where is this all coming from?"

"Dean," Carrie said, sitting on a park bench and patting it so that he would sit down next to her, "when we first met, you were in the middle of traveling the country. If I remember correctly, you were passing through this little town on your way home after hitting all points east. But then-"

"But then I had the most fortunate car trouble-" he interrupted.

"And you got stuck," she interrupted him right back. "You never got your trip out west. And, for the first time since we met, I feel like I can give you something back. Something that you really want."

"What?" even Dean was getting tired of the skip in his verbal record.

"My parents won some contest – a two person, all expenses paid trip," she told him. "They don't really want it; they really don't even remember signing up for it – but you know my mom," she smiled. Yes, poor Mrs. Robins was hopelessly addicted to the 'click-here-and-win' advertisements she found while online.

"Anyway," Carrie kept on, "it's a week-long trip. We would fly out on Friday, December 15 and get back the following Friday – the 22nd. It's perfect," she told him, really starting to sell the idea. "With our anniversary on the 16th… well, Mom and Dad thought it would be a great honeymoon trip. The hotel is supposed to be very nice, great view – in California – about as far west as you can get in the contiguous United States. And, like I said, they don't really want to use it," she told him, knowing how he felt about apparent hand-outs. "They just thought it would be a waste not to have _someone_ use it…"

"Okay, okay," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "So they want to give us a paid-for trip _and_ provide child care?" Carrie nodded. "All right – just as long as they know that this counts for the next round of birthday _and_ Christmas gifts."

"Done!" Carrie told him with a smile and a hug – both of them knowing full well that her parents would still lavish them and Abby with gifts on their various birthdays and at the holidays.

"And everything is already worked out for you," Mrs. Robins was telling Dean and Carrie when they stopped at the house to pick up Abby. "Lori – that's the travel agent who contacted me – Lori said that the plane arrives at 3:58 and it's only about a half an hour drive to the hotel. You'll be there in plenty of time to check in, drop off your suitcases, and have dinner."

Soon, Dean felt like a fifth wheel – literally – Carrie, Abby, and Mr. and Mrs. Robins were all happily chattering away about the up-coming trip. He wanted to be as excited as the others seemed to be but there was something nagging at him, something making anxious. Something other than the thought of flying for the first time in his life – not that he was afraid, of course.

No, there was something else. While Dean was anything but naïve and gullible, he had never been a particularly suspicious or cynical either – he preferred to think of himself as a realist, rather than an optimist or pessimist. But this whole situation… this whole excursion set him on edge in a way that was completely foreign, but at the same time natural, to him.


	5. Chapter 5

The Untruth Told

(5/5)

_No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks._

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley

_- San Francisco, California _

Sam could feel his cheeks aching. He didn't realize that smiling so much, whether sincerely or out of obligation, could cause so much discomfort. And he still had to get through the wedding, reception, and Sunday brunch!

He glanced over the top of his future grandmother-in-law's head to see Jenn across the lobby. Her smile was radiant and warm as she greeted family and friends entering the hotel. She looked up and noticed his attention, gave him a wink, and returned to her duties. That was really all it took to keep Sam smiling for the rest of the afternoon.

And, when he couldn't locate Jenn for reassurance, he just thought back to his bachelor party from the night before. True to his word, his brother had planned a modest evening of poker (with cards that Sam would rather Jenn not see – ever), cigars (David stopped him halfway through the one and only cigar he recieved, telling him he would pass out if he smoked the rest – and he was probably right), and drinks (all with names that made Sam blush when ordering). The best part, though, was all the drunken marriage advice Sam got. He had never laughed so hard in his life.

After hugging countless guests and making polite small talk, Sam realized that having the rehearsal at 10:00 that morning was possibly the smartest thing Jenn's mother had come up with. As it was, he didn't know whether he would last much longer and, as soon as he was able, he was planning to get a bite to eat and then sleep until the wedding.

With the hotel's check-in time at 1:00 pm, Sam and Jenn had grabbed a quick lunch and then stationed themselves at opposite sides of the lobby at 12:30. Their guests began arriving shortly before 1:00 and continued trickling in all afternoon. Regina had been kind enough to bring the couple bottles of water and anything else they found they needed.

By 4:00, Sam was exhausted. Faces were blurred together and he felt like he had told the same stories hundreds of times. At 4:30, Jenn walked over to him and told him that she way taking a short break and would be back to relieve him of his post as soon as she could.

At 4:50, Sam was startled when Jenn walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. She couldn't help but giggle a little at his flinch.

"Hey," he said with mock-irritation, "are you laughing at me?"

"Why, yes," she told him as she slid under his arm and turned to hug him face to face. "Yes I am."

"Well, as long as we have that cleared up."

"Sutro's doesn't really open for dinner for another ten minutes but they let me in early – a little wedding gift, I guess. Why don't you go over and get a little something to eat and drink? Tide you over until our shift ends at 6:00."

"6:00?" Sam muttered incredulously and slouched his shoulders.

"Yes 6:00," she laughed at him. "We're almost there, Sweetie. And I promise – I'll make it all up to you." She gave him a saucy little smirk that sent a shiver up his back.

"Yes ma'am," he said standing up straight. He could hear her laughing as he turned and headed for the bar.

Jenn was right. The bar was empty save for a waiter or two. As soon as the bartender hung up the phone and sent in a pick up order, he turned and faced Sam.

"Ah, the happy groom," he said light-heartedly. "What can I get you?"

Sam asked for something quick, easy, and filling. And a beer.

"Quick, easy, and filling?" the bartender laughed. "I suggest the clam chowder. I don't think there's much here that you can get quicker."

By the time the hostess began seating patrons, Sam was halfway finished with his chowder and nearly finished with his beer. The bartender walked over to him.

"Would you like another, sir?" he asked, indicating the bottle in front of Sam.

"No, I better not."

"Let me know if there's anything else I can get you," he told Sam, who nodded his reply. The bartender then looked around Sam at another customer walking towards the bar.

"Good evening, sir. What can I get for you?"

"Hmm… that smells good," a strangely familiar voice said from behind Sam. "I'll have what he's having."

"Very good," the bartender say and walked toward the kitchen.

Sam, from the corner of his eye, saw the man take a seat to Sam's left, leaving an empty stool between them. The two men looked towards each other at the same moment and stared, neither one believing his eyes.

-----

_- Lawrence, Kansas_

As it turned out, there were plane tickets available. However, the prices were not particularly affordable. Nor were they practical – as the only seat that Mark could possibly be able to sit in due to his very long casted leg was one next to the emergency exit, and there was only one such seat available for a flight four days before the wedding.

None of Mark's nearby friends were attending the wedding, Shane was too busy to take the time off from his internship, and Drew would not leave Cassidy behind with two newborns. Maria, who was spending the days helping Cassidy while Drew was at work, suggested that John chauffer his son. And, honestly, John couldn't come up with a single reason why he couldn't and an awful lot of reasons why he wanted to.

So, there they were, more than halfway through their 1900 mile trip and they had suddenly run out of things to talk about. Mark reached behind his father's seat and pulled his backpack into his lap. Due to his little mobility problem, Mark had missed quite a bit of school. Charlotte had been kind enough to explain his situation to his professors and even brought some of his work to him. Because of her, he had nearly caught himself up. Nearly.

"What's the matter?" John asked after his son gave a growl of frustration.

"I hate gen-ed classes," his son grumbled.

"Hey," John said with mock-disappointment, "auto shop is a general education class."

"No, auto shop is an elective – a class that you take because you want to. These gen-ed classes are things I have to take whether I want to or not."

"OK, so what's the problem? Other than your aversion to this class."

"I had to take a language class," Mark told him. "And because I wasn't prepared and didn't have many openings in my schedule, I got stuck with Latin. Now, I have a bunch of phrases to translate and I forgot my dictionary. I know a couple of the words, but I can't quite figure out what _fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt _means."

"As a rule, men willingly believe that which they wish to," John said off-handedly and without looking at his son.

Mark looked at the foreign words again and realized that his father was correct. He turned his head slowly and looked at the man, mouth slightly open.

It took John a moment, but he finally felt his son's gaze, glanced over, and gave him a shrug and a mumbled 'what?'

"Since when do you know Latin?" Mark asked him. John laughed a little and looked at him like he just made a joke.

"I don't."

The rest of the drive went by with little complications. The one exception being the rest stop with slippery floors and narrow doorways; but they managed.

"What's this place called again?" John asked.

"Cliff House," Mark told him and gave further driving instructions. They arrived at the hotel just before 5:00. John helped Mark out of the car and into the lobby, telling his son that he would go back for their bags when they had settled in.

"Mark!" Both of them looked around and saw a head full of blonde curls parting the crowd. When she stepped in front of them, she was breathless and radiated hyper-tension.

"Stacey," Mark said simply and gave his friend a quick hug.

"I am so glad you made it. And thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Winchester for bringing him. Listen, my family's about to go to the Bistro to get some dinner. You're both welcome to join us."

Mark's stomach rumbled before he could answer.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'?" Stacey asked and he nodded.

"Why don't you go ahead," John told his son. "I'm pretty tired from the drive. I think I'll just get a quick bite, then go out and grab the bags, and turn in for the night."

He watched as Mark made his way across the lobby with Stacey leading him and making sure his path was clear, almost running over a couple of people in the process. John smiled to himself, then stifled a yawn. Yes, there was no way he would have been able to tolerate that girl's enthusiasm while he was this exhausted.

Heading the opposite direction his son had just gone, John walked into Sutro's. The hostess offered to seat him, but he opted for a place at the bar instead. There was only one other person there – perfect.

"Let me know if there's anything else I can get you," he heard the bartender say to the young man. "Good evening, sir," he directed at John. "What can I get for you?"

John hadn't realized how hungry he was until he got close enough to smell the clam chowder coming from the bowl in front of the young man.

"Hmm… that smells good. I'll have what he's having."

"Very good," the bartender say and walked toward the kitchen.

John walked up to a stool at the young man's left, but as soon as he sat down he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked to his right just as the young man looked to his left. He felt his chin drop and watched as the young man's eyes grew wide. Before either of them could speak, the bartender interupted their thoughts and placed a beer before John.

"Hi, I'm here to pick up an order," said another young man who had just walked in.

-----

_- Cape Girardeau, Missouri_

Dean had, of course, waited until the last possible moment to pack for the trip. Not that it really mattered. Carrie packed her own clothes and their shared toiletries. All he really had to do was grab his own clothes, razor, and deodorant and he was set. The only difficulty he found was picking out a 'nice' outfit. That's where Abby came in.

"What about this?" he asked the 4-year-old. He was holding up a pair of khaki slacks and a grey button-down shirt.

"Daddy!" Abby said and rolled her eyes at him. "Those don't even match."

Dean looked at the selection again. He really didn't see anything wrong with it other than the fact that the pants were not denim. He picked up another shirt, this time it was navy blue.

"What about this one?"

"No," she told him with another roll of her eyes. She hopped off the bed with a huff and walked around him to his closet. She reached in and found a pair of light tan slacks. "Take these…" she said without turning to him. "And…" she searched until she found the correct shirt, "that one," she pointed up at an olive light-knit sweater with slightly lighter olive trim on the V-neck and wrists.

"This?" he asked, reaching over her for the shirt.

"Yep," she said proudly, "that's the one that Mommy says puts out your eyes."

Dean gave his daughter a quick look. She had made the statement so matter-of-factly that he didn't want to laugh. It took him a moment before realizing that Carrie must have told her the shirt 'brings' out his eyes.

"Daddy!"

"What'd I do now?" he turned to find Abby looking through the clothes he had set aside to pack. "Now you can't tell me that those other shirts don't match. Everything goes with jeans."

"But, they're all long pants. Mommy packed some shorts. I saw her."

"Oh, sweetheart, I don't do shorts," he told her, and was suddenly hit with that familiar feeling of late. He was really starting to get unnerved with all the experiences with déjà vu. But, he didn't have much time to dwell on it as Carrie walked into the room.

"And it's a shame, too," she whispered in his ear from behind him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Because you have some damn fine legs."

"Hey, babe," Carrie said with concern. "Are you all right now?" He had never said a word, never told her that flying didn't _agree_ with him. Dean hadn't told her that he had never flown before and was quite (uncharacteristically) nervous about the particular form of travel.

Not that he needed to – she was able to see the signs soon enough. She offered him the window seat and he declined a little too quickly and a little too firmly. Once seated, he began breathing deeply, as if he couldn't get enough air. And his knee was bouncing so rapidly that she thought the whole plane would begin vibrating.

Then, when the plane actually started moving… Carrie had never seen Dean so pale. He looked like he would either pass out or be sick at any moment. Luckily, the flight attendant came by and offered him a set of earphones, telling him that a little music might be a good distraction. It did seem to calm him a bit, but Carrie was surprised he didn't change the station – after all, she couldn't see how anyone could relax while listening to the likes of Black Sabbath, Motorhead, and Metallica.

"Dean?" she asked again.

"Yeah," he told her unconvincingly. "Let's just get to the hotel. I think I just want to lie down."

They caught a taxi outside of the airport and were at Cliff House in a half an hour. After weaving around a wedding party (Carrie noticed the bride-to-be showing a very beautiful diamond ring to Aunt so-and-so), they went straight up to their room.

Carrie unlocked the door to let Dean in and then wandered down the hall to find a soda machine with some ginger ale. When she got back, she found her husband lying on his back with one arm over his eyes and the other across his stomach. She poured the soda into a glass to let some of the carbonation die down and then offered it to him.

"Thanks," he muttered, and Carrie left it at that knowing that he was embarrassed at feeling ill. She gave him some space by busying herself with unloading their suitcases.

About fifteen minutes later, Dean took a deep breath and sat up slowly.

"Feeling better?" Carrie asked.

"Yeah," he smiled weakly. "Thanks."

"Are you hungry? I can call down and have some food sent up."

"That sounds good. I don't want to sit in a loud crowded restaurant right now," he told her while picking up his boots and putting them on. "But, I can go down and get it. I think I need to walk a little."

He came out of the bathroom just as she was hanging up the phone.

"There are two restaurants down stairs. I placed the order at the one called Sutro's."

Dean opted for the stairs over the elevator and was feeling a lot better by the time he got to the lobby. He was nearly run into by a short blonde girl leading a tall kid on crutches, but managed to move out of her way just in time. He also heard her mention the Bistro and realized that he had headed to the wrong restaurant.

When he made his way over to the hostess of Sutro's, he asked where he would pick up an order. She pointed him in the direction of the bar. Luckily, the bar only had three (quiet) people in it. There were two men sitting there, one older and one younger than him. As he walked up, he noticed they were staring at one another.

"Hi," he said to the bartender who had just placed a beer in front of the older man, then looked up at him and smiled, "I'm here to pick up an order."

The words were barely out of his mouth before the two men turned and looked at him. Suddenly, he understood why they had been staring at one another.


	6. Epilogue

The Untruth Told

(Epilogue)

_Hell is empty and all the devils are here._

William Shakespeare

He could hear the faint sounds of laughter coming from The Magroth Edge Inn. Three distinct voices; apparently, he was the last to arrive. This meant that he was either late or the rest of the group was early – and he seriously doubted that they were early. Oh well, he always did like to make an entrance.

He reached out for the decorative doorknob and had to grin a little. _Same old Azure, same old tricks._ The knob was wet and he knew, just knew that the water on it had been blessed. They were never really worried about humans interrupting their evening, but they would not tolerate an intrusion by some lower level demon. And really, compared to them, all other demons were lower.

There were very few of them left – the older demons. And, holy water did not affect them the way it did the younger ones. So, any black-eyed child who tried to enter here would have a stinging surprise waiting for them in the form of a Coptic Cross burnt onto its palm. Secret code words just weren't their style.

"Ah," he said as he walked grandly into the Inn, "my _friends_." To which they all laughed. After all, they weren't 'friends' – they were peers who had vowed not to destroy one another without provocation, but that was hardly grounds for friendship.

Looking around at the new faces, the man-masks, he new who they were right away. They were very predictable in their choices and rarely strayed from forms they had long ago taken a liking to.

Azure was always a wise, old man. The human would have a vast knowledge and a great amount of higher education. It was a perfect cover, Azure told him once, because no one suspects a frail elderly man… until it was too late.

To the old man's right sat Jade. Always a tall, thin woman who was only slightly more curvy than a runway model. And, the woman would never pass beyond the 30-35 human-year-old range.

To Azure's left was the newest member of the group. Plum was brought in only to fill the void left by Ruby – a true loss that he and the others didn't want to talk (let alone think) about. Plum always took the form of an obese human, very obese. Though the demon wouldn't admit it, they all knew it was a fondness for human pastries that led to the choice.

They never called one another by their real names. Names held far too much power in their world and to try and wield that power could mean war. Battle lines were never completely straight and rivalries ran far too deep – a battle between demon factions would only end in a loss too excessive to be considered a win for either side. And those losses would put them at far too great a disadvantage to the humans.

Years ago one of them saw a movie in which four subway hijackers identified one another using colors instead of names. They all agreed it was cliché, they all agreed to use the idea anyway, but they could not agree on who had watched the movie and suggested it in the first place.

Humans hold the belief that _the eyes are the windows to the soul_. Well, like so many other theories, this is only half right. The eyes are the windows to the inner being. For humans, this might mean _soul_, but demons have always been proud of the fact that they are devoid of such flaws. But, the eyes of the shells they inhabit are indeed windows and they show the true colors (where did you _think_ that quote came from?) of the demons inside – so, this is how the names were distributed.

"Ah, Amber," Azure addressed him, "finally we can begin the game." Amber took the seat across from the old man.

The four elder demons met every 42 days to play poker. Again, it was cliché, but demons happen to love playing card games. They had tried playing bridge and euchre, but found that games that required partners did not work so well. Though they remained cordial, they would never be close – trust was always an issue.

They had been playing for over an hour, discussing accomplishments and evil deeds, when Plum broke the comfortable chatter. Perhaps she (as Plum chose a corpulent, middle-aged woman for the evening) meant nothing by the question, but more likely than not she was getting angry at Amber calling all of her bluffs…

"Amber," she said with a slobbery sneer, "word around town is that you allowed a few of your prey to walk away unscathed." She tsked and shook her head in mock-disappointment. "That's so unlike you."

"Well, I'm afraid that you heard wrong," he said, trying to keep the snarl from his voice.

"Really?" Plum returned, again mocking him. "Actually, I _was_ trying to be polite… what I really heard was that you weren't _able_ to kill them."

"Children," Azure said in warning when the two demons began glaring at one another. He was the oldest at the table, but not so much that the word 'children' was appropriate.

"I've heard varying tales," Jade entered into the conversation. "Is it true that you went after _the_ hunters?"

"Yes, they have been a project of mine for over twenty years now," he said with a smile, happy at the awe in Jade's voice.

"Too bad you weren't able to finish off that project," Plum taunted again.

"Now," Azure came in again, "that's enough. Amber, I've also heard strange things of these encounters. Though no two stories are the same, the one fact they seem to have in common is that the hunters survived. Yet, I have heard of no recent slayings by their hands."

"Yes," Jade sat up straighter in her chair, "I've heard that as well. What happened?"

"Well," Amber began his story, "like I said, this is a project I have been working on for years – but it has not been my _only_ task. As you all know, I happen to have a fondness for humans with certain… abilities. Years ago, when I found one such infant, I went into his room to retrieve him but was interrupted.

"I had taken children before this incident and have taken a good many since, but this one… well, this one was the one that got away. I tried for years to move on, but it was impossible. I couldn't stop thinking about that child. However, when I found the family again, I discovered that they had changed. They were no longer the same oblivious humans – they knew about our kind and had found ways to destroy us.

"I spent over twenty years studying the family – while I wasn't taking other children away with me, of course. Then, not too long ago, I came face to face with _the one_. Now a man, he was also in possession of a weapon that is rumored to be able to destroy even us."

He paused for dramatic effect – Jade gasped and Azure and Plum stared at him wide-eyed. They were now all leaning closer to hear his story.

"Luckily, I am quite quick because the Psychic took aim and fired – obviously, I got away. But, not before I realized that I had to come up with a plan. With the help of my children, I seized the Warrior. From there, it was simple to get hold of the Psychic and the Protector.

"I had, of course, planned to kill elder two on the spot. However, I felt the need to get confirmation.

_Where's the colt?_

_Don't worry, Dad. It's safe._

"I had every confidence in my daughter – but something told me to ask. I expected her to get the weapon, but not only did she fail; now it was somewhere _safe_. Well, I couldn't risk killing any of them yet.

"The Psychic and the Protector, predictably, helped me _escape_ my imprisonment. But my son, my boy, he did what all good sons should do and tried to come to my aid. He tried to help me bring the Protector down and subdue the Psychic.

"And, before I was able to stop him, to tell him in some way that I didn't have the gun… he was gone. Both of us had underestimated the Protector. The young man was thrown across a street and onto a car, and yet still lifted himself up and killed my boy. Not only that, apparently he had hidden the truth from his own brother, a clairvoyant, and had the gun with him the whole time. Had I only known…

"At the cabin, the boys left me alone to _rest_. I could hear them move about and speak to one another, but couldn't make out what they were saying. I crept out into the hallway just outside of the small main room and heard the Protector."

_Killing that guy, killing Meg… I didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch. I mean, for you or Dad… The things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just… It scares me sometimes._

"But, I took that terrible news of my daughter's death and used it – I found my way in. I knew what the boy wanted to hear, knew what he needed to hear. I put my hatred aside and steadied my man-mask."

_It shouldn't. You did good._

_You're not mad?_

"Oh, he was _so_ eager for approval and affection from Daddy. His human weakness made everything that much easier for me."

_You watch out for this family. You always have._

"Then, I just performed a few lowly parlor tricks – a simple flicker of the lights – and the wide-eyed children looked to _Daddy_ for security. After sending the Psychic away, I focused my sights on the Protector – my last obstacle. I told him _the demon_ was close and to hand the weapon over so that I could make the big, bad monster go away.

"But the Protector – well, we've all misjudged the Protector. He is more powerful than we originally thought. Even though my true eyes were hidden, he saw through the disguise and turned his gun on me."

Once again, Amber paused, and once again Jade gasped.

"So, there I was, faced with a weapon that could destroy me – and in walks the Psychic, who quickly sided with the Protector. There was only one thing I could do…"

_You're both so sure? Go ahead. Kill me._

"So, I bluffed. And, it worked! Once again, their human weaknesses came out. The Protector lowered his gun _and_ lowered his eyes."

_I thought so._

"And I struck! I had them all at my mercy – the Warrior was trapped inside himself and the children were in my firm grasp – their backs were against the wall (again, where did you _think_ that quote came from?). After more than twenty years, I could see my glorious victory right in front of me. If there is anything more sweet than human pain, I have yet to find it."

Looking around the table, the game clearly forgotten, Amber could see his fellow demons licking their lips and agreeing with him. If there was any way he could skip the next part of the story, he would, but they knew too much to allow for that.

"I savored the anguish I brought the Psychic – telling him of his role in the deaths of his mother and of his lover. I enjoyed every sweet second of agony I gave the Warrior – letting his be the face that smiled as he hurt his precious sons. And the Protector… ah, the Protector…"

_I bet you're real proud of your kids, too, huh? Oh wait, I forgot. I wasted'em._

"I devoured his torture. I watched as his life-liquid oozed from his body, barely hearing the desperate cries of the Warrior inside and the Psychic behind me.

"But, these hunters… they have such a strong power when they're together…

"Just as the Protector was fading, the other two ganged up on me. The Psychic began projecting his power and the Warrior gathered his strength and took control back for a moment. It was all they needed – I was distracted and the Psychic pulled free of my hold and grabbed the gun."

_You kill me; you kill Daddy._

"The Psychic used the gun, but the magic bullet hit the Warrior's leg. I tried to keep possession of him, but with that special bullet inside, I couldn't.

"I took to the floorboards – hid underneath so I could spy on my enemies – and listened in as the hunters made their plan of escape. I couldn't keep them from leaving, but I was able to follow unobserved. Leading me to their vehicle, I called upon my nephew to help me defeat them.

"I saw the pair of death-lights, but the hunters didn't – and for that, I laughed. And, as the three men lay unconscious in their car, I saw my second chance to take the Psychic and kill the others.

"However, as I went in for the attack, I found some sort of protective shield around the Warrior and the Protector. I couldn't believe it! Even in his current state, the Psychic was safeguarding his family!

"I realized that the armor was thin and that I could've gotten to one or the other easily, but I also knew that the Psychic would merely harness all of his strength onto the opposite; creating a defense I, in my weakened state, could not even begin to penetrate.

"I considered taking out of one of my obstacles, but then something occurred to me. If I killed one hunter, the other two would most definitely return with renewed vengeance. And, after all the trouble they've caused in the last two decades after the loss of their female, I didn't think that our side could risk that kind of retribution.

"Then, inspiration struck and I realized the perfect way to get rid of my enemies without risking my own life! Why destroy them when I could simply _disconnect_ them? After all, their power comes from their devotion to one another.

"It was easy enough to discover their deepest desires – after all, the hunters, like most humans, keep their wants and wishes so close to the surface. And here is the brilliance that I came up with:

"By separating them and giving them each the _perfect_ life free of the memories of past battles and pains, I have extinguished their power without exterminating the men."

"I think you've been spending too much time with Azure here," Plum laughed the triumphant look right off of Amber's borrowed face. "_Extinguish, exterminate_? Those are some big, fancy words when _failed to kill_ would do just as well."

"As much as I hate to, I have to agree with Plum," Jade said, sounding disgusted with herself. "I mean, yes, this plan of yours has lessened their strengths – so why not attack now?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Amber laughed. "They might not remember who they were, but they are still hunters."

"Yes," Azure agreed. "The skills and abilities are innate within them. They may not remember their teachings and trainings, but the lessons remain hidden within their minds. And, they will not remain concealed if provoked."

"However," Amber continued, "in their current states, they aren't a threat. So, as long as we keep our distance, they will remain harmless."

"But," Plum said again, receiving an exaggerated eye-roll from Amber, "I've heard rumors that the hunters are fighting the charm. They get closer to remembering their past lives every day. Wouldn't it be better to attack now before they come together again?"

"Let me explain this to you one last time," Amber said fiercely. "The hunters are no longer a danger to our kind because of _me_. Is any of this leaching into that thick skull that you chose for yourself? To nullify the charm completely, all three hunters must agree to give up their current idyllic lives and go back to their miserable reality full of death and sorrow. I think it's a safe bet to rule _that_ out. After all, what kind of humans would trade heaven for hell?"


	7. missing scenes

The Untruth Told

(missing scenes)

_To talk of luck and chance only shows how little we really know_

_of the laws which govern cause and effect._  
Hosea Ballou

She sat at her kitchen table filled with clippings and notes and pictures. _I'm as bad as John_, she mused. She usually didn't do a whole lot of research, instead relying on her instinct and intuition, but this had to be done just right. And it had to be done soon.

_The sooner the better_, she had told her team. She knew that the longer she waited, the longer they lived in their fantasy worlds, the harder it would be to pull them out. And the world needed them as they were, not as they are now. _Too many lives are at stake_, she kept reminding herself.

In her business, there was a certain amount of belief in fate, destiny, what have you. But, you could not depend on destiny to make everything work out fine – especially when there are others out there that manipulate fate. It's an unfair game if only one side gets to play. So, she appointed herself captain and began assembling her team.

Getting telephone numbers had not been as difficult as she had thought. After all, she had already been in contact with Bobby. And, since he was the one to retrieve the Impala, he was able to get a hold of John's journal – a journal which the boys (mostly Sam) had kept up to date, which included contact information.

From there, she simply needed to formulate a plan. She new where they each lived – the challenge was getting them together. Absence, in this case, wouldn't make their hearts grow fonder – it would make them forgetful. She was sure that, if they could just see one another again, there was hope and everything could be put right once more.

She could foresee some things – Mark breaking his leg, for example. No, she was not responsible for that. She would never intentionally harm someone – greater good aside. Cassidy going into labor was another strange coincidence. As was Sam picking the same day to get married as Dean had – although, she should have seen that one coming.

There were things, though, that she had a hand in…

"Did you get the pamphlets I sent? The website?"

"Yes," Sarah told her. "I got it all. And, I added Eileen Morris to the guest list."

"And you'll have lunch with her?"

"Don't worry. I got the photo you sent. I'll be able to pick her out of the crowd. And I will study this Cliff House place and make sure to mention it… several times."

_Miss Blake_, she heard someone say, _I need someone to sign for this._

_I'll be there in a minute_, Sarah told him.

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" Sarah asked. "I mean, I like Sam. I do. But, I would rather see him happy…"

"But his happiness right now isn't real," she said, though there was a part of her that felt wrong as well. But, now was not the time to falter. She had a job to do and she would see it through.

"All right," Sarah told her. "I have to go. I'll call you after I have lunch with Eileen."

Asking Bobby to empty the Impala and then donate it to John's school had been an easy enough task. Well, easy from her end – she chose not to think about how difficult it was to get the blood out of the interior. And fixing it so that Mrs. Robins won a free trip…

"Hello?"

"Hello," Lori said, the smile present in her voice. "Am I speaking with Teresa Robins?" she asked, knowing already that she was.

"Yes, this is she."

"Ms. Robins, my name is Lori and I am happy to inform you that you have won a trip to San Francisco. How does that sound?"

"San Francisco? I don't remember entering a contest…"

"Ah, this was an on-line contest," Lori told her – and that was all she really needed to say, though she rambled on with the script given to her, mentioning things like 'perfect for newlyweds' or second honeymoons.

As soon as she hung up with Mrs. Robins, her intercom buzzed.

_Miss Sorenson? There's a call for you on line two._

"Hello?"

"Did it work?"

"I don't know," Lori told her. "She asked where she could pick up the tickets and I mentioned the second honeymoon thing, but she didn't say anything…"

"It's all right," she told the girl, "as long as she accepted the tickets, I know she will offer them to her daughter and Dean."

So, she knew that the boys would come face to face – now all that was left was John. Once again, fate (or maybe luck) was on her side and John's youngest son was friends with Sam's fiancé's cousin. She shook her head when she looked at her notes and saw the strange crisscross arrows running through them.

But, that's when she realized her opponent's goal. She may not have caused Mark to break his leg, but the other side had. She needed to start running interference and, as luck would have it, one of the boys' early cases provided the perfect plan…

"Hello, Mrs. Winchester," Charlotte said with a smile.

"Hello," Maria returned, "how's my baby doing?"

_Mo-om!_ they both heard coming from the room Charlotte had just left. They smiled at one another.

"He's doing great," Charlotte told her. "How's the plane ticket search going?"

"Not so good. You were right about the prices."

"That's a shame. Too bad he can't get a ride with someone."

"Well, Drew and I are taking it in turns to help Cassidy with the twins. And Shane just got the internship he has been working for."

"And Mr. Winchester can't go…" Charlotte said, leading Maria on.

"Actually, John could…"

"He probably has work."

"School will be out, so he won't he teaching," Maria said, clearly to herself. "And he owns the garage – and has plenty of help during the holidays…"

"Mrs. Winchester?"

"You know," Maria said, "I don't see why John _couldn't_ take the time off… Thank you Charlotte," the woman said as she entered her son's room.

"You can call me Charlie."

Amanda had told her that she could request Dean's flight. Knowing Dean's fear of flying was a variable she didn't want to leave to chance – and Amanda kept an eye on him and made sure he boarded. She checked on the queasy young man on more than one occasion. And, just as she was instructed, she offered him a headset to calm his nerves. As she demonstrated how to use it, she turned the dial to the metal station – and as predicted, Dean left it and was soothed by the sounds of Metallica for the remainder of the flight.

The young flight attendant called her once the plane landed. It was all coming together – time to call Emily, the last member of her team.

"This is Miss Jorgenson. How may I help you?"

"Emily, they're on their way. How is everything going on your end?" The poor young woman had had quite a large part to play. Her notepad full of lists and instructions almost rivaled her captain's.

"So far, so good," the professional tone replaced by one trying to hide her nervousness. "I've instructed the Sutro's staff to allow the wedding couple to come in early for a bite to eat," she began rattling off her list of accomplishments. "And, I told the maid of honor, and she's passing the word to Jenn and Sam. Also, the staff already takes pick up orders early, so that won't be a problem. I have Stacey's family in the Bistro, so they'll be out of the way."

"You've done a great job, Emily," she reassured the young woman. "You've set the stage and, if I know the Winchesters, they will each arrive on cue."

The line was silent for a moment and she could tell Emily wanted to ask something.

"Well," she told her, "spit it out. What is it?"

"How do you know that it will all come together? I mean…"

"I know what you mean. How do I know they will act the way they are supposed to – that they will each be in that bar at the same time? That they will recognize one another and choose their former lives over their current ones… Well, I don't. Not for sure," Missouri told her. "But there is only so much that we can do – the rest is up to them."


End file.
